


Grey

by notjustmom



Series: Colours [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Some Fluff, as always, just playing with them, mostly canonish, probable johnlock at some point, some possible angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:51:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just me, playing with the boys, idiots at usual, not exactly sure what the end game is, but there will be Johnlock in some form at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey

At some point, he began to see life was varying degrees of grey. He no longer saw things as black and white; he had once believed there were bad people and good people, then he went to war, where he lost the ability to judge anyone. He realised most people were doing what they needed to do just to get by, some people did it better, or perhaps they just faked it better than he could.

He could accept certain realities, he was after all, a realist. He had stopped believing in fairy tales and miracles and love early on in his life; it would be easy to blame his parents, but that was only part of it, though his various therapists could own their own tropical islands if he actually ever kept a single appointment. 

He understood how people saw him, man with a limp, twitchy, clothes he couldn't afford to replace, a few years old, always off the rack, but in good nick. He wasn't by nature a smiler, though he appreciated a well told joke after a couple of lagers at the local; he leaned toward sarcasm, yes, perhaps he was a bit sassy; he didn't tolerate fools for long. He knew he wasn't a fool, he had trained and worked hard, damned hard to be the top of his class, in everything, always. He was a well-trained, well-respected surgeon, who became, well, truth be told; bored. Which is why he left the sterile world he existed in, basically safe at its heart and went to war. At the end of it all, he lost everything, no one to blame really, it was what it was. 

Each day he got up and walked. Bought a coffee and walked and sat. Never met anyone from his old life, until that one January day. Old Stamford. Stamford; the happiest, smiliest man he'd ever known, gave him back everything. A new everything, in kaleidoscopic colour. Though he didn't know it at the time.


End file.
